RANDALL BEACH: C.J. May's got the magic touch and he's looking for work

Randall Beach, Register Staff

Published
12:00 am EST, Saturday, February 4, 2012

Yale Recycler C.J. May at home in New Haven with his daughter Ella age 6 and their Polish Crested chicken Mazey. Photo by Mara Lavitt/New Haven Register2/1/12

Yale Recycler C.J. May at home in New Haven with his daughter Ella age 6 and their Polish Crested chicken Mazey. Photo by Mara Lavitt/New Haven Register2/1/12

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Yale Recycler C.J. May at home in New Haven with his daughter Ella age 6 and their Polish Crested chicken Mazey. Photo by Mara Lavitt/New Haven Register2/1/12

Yale Recycler C.J. May at home in New Haven with his daughter Ella age 6 and their Polish Crested chicken Mazey. Photo by Mara Lavitt/New Haven Register2/1/12

RANDALL BEACH: C.J. May's got the magic touch and he's looking for work

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At work and at home, C.J. May practices ongoing magic as he juggles recycling tasks, environmental education, kid-raising and chicken-tending.

Is there anything May can't do?

Just one: Wave his magic wand and save his job.

"Even wizards get laid off," he said.

Ironically, May has achieved so much success during his 22-year term as Yale University recycling coordinator that he may not be as necessary as before.

And so, in a few months, as a result of budget cuts and administrative reorganization, May will be let go by his alma mater.

He doesn't appear to be angry nor bitter about this. "Yale recycling has grown," he told me. "It's being institutionalized, as it should be. It shouldn't be a one-man show."

When I asked Yale spokesman Tom Conroy for comment, he delivered this email testimonial: "C.J. is an expert on recycling who brings great knowledge, experience, creativity and passion to the issue. He has never been daunted by the challenge of winning hearts and minds to the benefits of recycling and to the success that is possible."

"His enthusiasm is infectious," Conroy added. "Every time I have spoken with him I have learned something new and was convinced that it could be done, and I resolved to do a better job personally regarding recycling. I'm sure I'm just one of many, many people who would tell you the same."

So why let him go? Kara Tavella, an associate director in Yale's Office of Facilities, told the Yale Daily News: "Different pieces of the job are being picked up by different offices. ... There are a lot of metrics to keep track of in recycling, and Facilities, which handles waste, isn't the best office to be keeping track of those metrics."

When I arrived at May's office, a second-floor walk-up above Clark's Pizza and Restaurant, he greeted me wearing a sweatshirt with the message "Talk trash to me."

We decided to talk nearby at Bruegger's Bagels. When he noted he and his wife, Becky May, have three kids, ages 6, 11 and 15, I asked about his job prospects.

"My long-term goal is to pursue magic full-time," he replied, alluding to his passion for donning a wizard's robe to educate school groups and people in professional organizations about the "magic" of recyling.

But he added, "As people say in show business, 'Don't quit your day job.' I'm looking for more stable work before that. We're not thinking about leaving New Haven. This is our home."

One of the things he treasures about living here is his 10-minute commute on his bicycle. You might have seen him around town, his ponytail tied back as he rides to work or takes one of his kids to school, a child carrier compartment attached to his bike.

He recalled that during his graduate school days (1988-89), Yale's recycling effort consisted of students using and emptying bins of materials behind a classroom building. "That was a significant part of my Yale education: getting into a truck, picking up recyclables and delivering them to the landfill."

Because of a new state law in 1987 mandating the recycling of certain items, including paper, Yale officials realized students couldn't do it all. But the adults turned to May and other student recycling pioneers for advice.

Yale hired May to work on the project. After graduation, he was re-hired to oversee the new recycling program.

In 2004, inspired by the Harry Potter phenomenon, May began learning how to do magic. Quickly seeing he could combine this with environmental education, he resurrected his first name and a performer was born: Cyril the Sorcerer.

"I'm getting older and grayer," said May, 49. "If I'm going to look like a wizard, I might as well BE a wizard!"

Back in his office, as May recycled his Bruegger's plastic juice container, he picked up a plastic water bottle. With the bottle in his palm, he waved his hand and it slowly started to rise. He used this trick during a Board of Aldermen hearing, after which the board passed a bill to prohibit tax dollars from being spent on bottled water.

Last Wednesday night I toured his house (called "the Burrow," a Potter reference) and back yard. He showed me his composting and recycling bins and his four chickens. "They're happy; they love wandering around the yard."

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